


From the shadows, I heard you calling

by WilwyWaylan



Series: Jehanparnasse Week [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Other, oh no I write racy things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 08:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16488818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilwyWaylan/pseuds/WilwyWaylan
Summary: Montparnasse has to break into a museum, but he certainly didn't expect to find someone there.





	From the shadows, I heard you calling

**Author's Note:**

> For Jehanparnasse week, "Chiaroscuro"  
> Title courtesy of Kujaku-myoo

The lock gave way under the man's skillful fingers with a small click. Before pushing the door open, Montparnasse ran his knife all along the frame, cutting all wires that could have started the alarm. Only then he entered, quickly closing behind him, leaned against the heavy wood. No siren, no flashing light, no guards. Good. He released his breath. He hadn't been seen.

In front of him, the hall of the museum was silent, drown in darkness. The counter only emerged from the darkness, painted white by a ray of moonlight sliding through the window way above his head. All around, the night had taken possession of the room. Montparnasse walked forwards, his heels ringing on the marble tiles. There was no reflect on them, not even from the moon. It felt like walking on a lake of frozen ink that could swallow him any time.

Montparnasse went left, walked past two rooms full of old rubbish. Still no one. Good. He climbed the large curve of the marble stairs, nimble as a cat. A red, blinking light on the landing alerted him of the presence of an alarm. Which meant that there wouldn't be any guards. Very good. Two presses of buttons and a flick of his knife got rid of the threat. Once sure it wouldn't start, Montparnasse walked forwards, and entered the painting gallery.

Here, the darkness was kept at bay by the moonlight flooding the room through the high windows. On the white walls, the frames themselves were large, dark patches, like trapped piecces of night. Montparnasse was tempted to look closer, to see if he could maybe take one with him, but he held himself back. Getting out with a painting wouldn't be very easy. And more, he didn't know the slightest thing about it.

He walked to the farthest window, the one signaled by his commanditaire, and cut all the wires connected to it. He was probably cautionning an art theft, but he didn't really care. All that mattered was the envelope full of money he would find at the usual spot. But he wouldn't get anything if he dawdled too much here. He turned to leave... and froze. He hadn't seen it when coming it, because the bench was turned away from the door, but someone was lying on it. A person. A real person, not a realistic statue. Montparnasse could see them breathe. What were them doing here ? The museum was closed, he was well placed to know that. And they didn't look like a guard. More like some kind of... hippy. With flowy clothes that were probably very colorful, and a long braid coiling around their shoulder and on their chest. Weird. Then again, Monparnasse wasn't there to elucidate the mysteries of the museum.

He went to leave, walking as silently as possible. But as soon as he moved, the person opened their eyes. They sat up, rubbing their eyes. Montparnasse tried to blend as he could in the shadows betwen two windows, watching the other person stretch and look around themselves. They didn't seem too nervous at the fact that they were apparently locked in the museum. More power to them.

Montparnasse tried to slide discreetly towards the door. Immediatly, the person's eyes zeroed on him, nailing him in place. Not that he thought they would turn him in. But there was something strange in their eyes. Even in the low light, they were strangely... different. An asymetry that captivated him and prevented him to run away.

\- Hello there, the person said with a wave. What are you doing here ?

Montparnasse was tempted to stay like this and hope that they would think he was just a figment of their imagination. But they got up, and walked towards him. That was bad. That was very bad. They were coming, and he needed to run. And still, the strangeness of the situation made it impossible. Because how many chances were there to find a person sleeping in the same museum you broke in ? A beautiful person, dressed so strangely ? With long, flowing hair and magical eyes ? No, that was some kind of dream. Renforced by the fact that the person didn't make any noise while walking, and their strange eyes were keeping him captive.

Montparnasse lowered his eyes, in an attempt to break the spell. And noticed the person was barefoot. They weren't a ghost, they just didn't make any noise because they were wearing socks. He could even see their shoes near the couch. They were just a random human who stayed here too late. And it meant they were a threat to his safety.

He moved a finger slightly, and a knife fell in his hand. He waited for the person to approach, ready to slit their throat. He didn't want it, of course. Not for some kind of morale, but because it would put his mission at risk, and get him in danger. On the other hand, they had seen his face. They needed to die, or be rendered unable to speak. It was a shame, really. Seen up close, they were quite gorgeous, with long, dark lashes and a dusting of freckles on cheekbones that could kill. Well, they were about to meet something that could kill, and quite literally.

But they stopped just out of his reach, and smiled. Oh no. They had a gorgeous smile. They looked Montparnasse up and down, and remarked :

\- I thought I knew the collections here by heart, but I seem to have missed a masterpiece.

Montparnasse couldn't help but smile slightly, flattered. But he couldn't answer. He already was in too much danger. He needed the person to do just one more step, and they would be dead. Just one step.

\- Can I at least get the name of the master who created such perfection ?

... damn that person and damn those eyes. Already, Montparnasse could feel his will falter. He knew what he had to do. He was dead set on it. He needed to get rid of that witness. Or he would end behind bars. It was a matter of life and death. And still, he couldn't move.

Faced with his lack of reaction, the person reached for Montparnasse's hand, and very gently, slid their fingers against the inside of his wrist. The light contact sent a bolt of lightning through Montparnasse's body, exploding in his chest and getting caught in his throat. Never until know had he felt that way, so... intense.

\- Montparnasse... he managed to croak.

Idiot ! How could he be so stupid ! Giving his name like this ! But already, the other person was smiling again, and his heart started beating faster. Oh well. So what the hell, he grabbed them by the shoulders, spun them elegantly, and pressed them against the wall. For a second, he were again tempted to stab them. But instead, he kissed them. The person tensed a little, but soon melted against him, and kissed back. They slid their arms around his neck, pulling him against them.

Montparnasse stopped trying to think about what he was doing, trying to rationalize, trying to care about anything, except the body against his, the taste of the skin just under the ear where he moved. The person emitted a noise half between a giggle and a sigh, their hands tightening on Montparnasse's nape. Far from making him tense, it excited him, and he doubled his efforts to get more of their noises, pulling on their clothes and kissing every inch of skin he could find. The way they moved against him was slowly driving him mad. He had a vague thought about how unprofessionnal it was of him, how screwed (ha !) he was, and how it was but a recipe for disaster, but all was pushed in mind when they slid their hands under his shirt, and he turned all his attention to the task in mind.

~*~

Montparnasse sneaked into the flat, closed the door and leaned against it. His heart was still beating wildly, and he still wasn't sure that everything he had lived was real, and not some kind of weird fever dream. He didn't even know how he got home. All was blurred. He remembered the person's face, their expressions, the noise they made, how gracefully they got rid of their shirts, the long hair cascading on their shoulders when he had freed them of its braid, and how they had clung to him. He remembered the warmth, the taste of their kisses, and how they touched him. But after... they have both gotten dressed hastily, without really looking at each other. Montparnasse left first, but before he could, the person had grabbed his wrist, stroked it again, longer than before. He had felt his cheeks heat again, and had run away like Hell's demons were after him. Luckily, he had found his way home even in his confusion.

He listened attentively, but the flat was silent. Good. He wouldn't have to explain to anyone why he was flushed, disheveled and his clothes rumpled. He went to his room, undressed, not even bothering to turn the light on or fold anything. The heavy blankets landing on him appeased his confused mind a bit. He turned around, arranging the pillows, and only then saw the markings on his skin.

He almost jumped on his lamp and turned it on. On his wrist was written a name, followed by a phone number. Jehan Prouvaire. His strange museum fairy was named Jehan Prouvaire. He turned the light off, laid down again, the duvet pulled over his head. He didn't know what to do with this information, or how it made him feel. Jehan Prouvaire was a strange creature of the night, and a witness of his crime. They knew his face, and they had him under their spell. What was he supposed to do ? Call them ? Stalk them and kill them ? No. He couldn't kill them. But he didn't know what to do. This could turn out beautifully, or a nightmare.

Jehan's eyes appeared on his mind, and he relaxed a little. Maybe it would turn out horrendous. But there was something, something that told him that contacting them again could turn a mistake into the most beautiful thing in his life. He needed to think about it in the morning, where the rush of adrenaline would receed. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, Jehan's beautiful face still on his mind.


End file.
